


Playing ‘Wingman’

by Pink_and_Velvet



Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Blowjobs, Drinking, Games, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Porn with Feelings, Teasing, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 10:45:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19271659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: If it means playing ‘Wingman’ for a good lay, Iceman is always ready to compete.All sensation stopped, Maverick had pulled away. They both knew Iceman was close. He needed another distraction, he flagged a waiter down for a top up.





	Playing ‘Wingman’

“Wingman _anytime_. You promised.”

They took a seat in the back of the O-Club. The little white light danced across Maverick’s face, catching his smile as it broke out. He held his gaze on Iceman, who was taking in that smile.

“On the _battlefield_ Mitchell.”

“Or the bedroom.” Maverick corrected.

“Or the bedroom.” Iceman confirmed, voice having dropped to a whisper.

Maverick gulped his beer, lifting it high to expose his throat. He was teasing, Iceman knew. He was doing exactly what Iceman would himself. Force him to picture running his tongue up that neck, torturing himself knowing what sounds would erupt as Maverick’s tongue ran higher, lower, in all directions. Lower.

Already feeling the familiar tightness of his dress whites, Iceman sipped his whisky and watched with interest as Maverick locked his eyes back on him.

“Alright. Fine. What is it you want Mitchell?”

“ _Dangerous_ question, Kazansky. Can you even handle the answer?”

Ice grinned, full of too white teeth and pure challenge.

“That’s why I asked.”

Iceman had taken note that it appeared harder and harder for him to refuse Maverick these days. On certain things. The certain things that he knew would melt his cool composure, leave him shaking and sweating, glaringly hot. Hot in all the ways Maverick knew, the ways _only_ Maverick needed to know.

“Bar, dead on 2 ‘o’ clock.”

Iceman turned to survey the bar then back to Maverick. He turned back to the bar, cocked his head, only to return to Maverick’s stupid grinning and beautiful face.

“No.” Iceman let out in a huff.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes. C’mon Ice. You _promised_.”

What Iceman had comically twisted back and fourth too wasn’t one of the regulars. Whoever she was had caught Maverick’s eye and he could see why. Her lean figure, shapely legs. She had long legs and delicate fingers. Her hair was blonde, perhaps he had once known the name for the colour. She was objectively pretty, her laugh seemed provoked purely from the small brunette at her right side. The brunette was also slim, also with a lean figure.

“You little shit.” Ice laughed a little, slightly breathless.

 

Ice watched as the two women trotted over. Not entirely in their direction but close enough to let their presence be known. For the hot, Navy pilots to notice them. Ice narrowed his eyes, thankfully the action appeared to go unnoticed.

“You go after MiG 1, I’m going after MiG 2.” Maverick’s voice was full of his usual cockiness, the usual glimmer in his eyes.

He winked at Ice. Ice finally understood.

On some strange level, too far into Maverick’s own idiocy that the Iceman himself was reluctant to breech, he understood it. What Maverick wanted. He wasn’t wanting to pick blondie up as such, he wanted to _play_ Wingman. Sure it irritated Iceman to hell and back but by now, he’d perfected his own ‘slip on aviators, nurse a drink, occasionally turn to her and act interested’ routine that it’d be enough for the woman to feel wanted. Iceman would never take her home, she’d be let down easy. Or maybe he would ditch her somewhere.

Although this time, there was more at stake.

If it took some cheap Wingman routine with Maverick for a double date or, the chance to hide themselves behind a double date. He’d take it.

The risk was stupid and unnecessary but Iceman took it.

 

He’d let Maverick take the lead. The predictable flanking manoeuvre, as Iceman had come to call it. Maverick got in the way, noisily and abruptly, commanding himself so he was between the two chicks, microphone already in hand.

That and the ‘Thomas Kazansky take on a Righteous Brothers Classic’ was always enough to get to Maverick, Iceman knew it. Or let Ice sing him to sleep with. It seemed a little odd but still, it was both a weapon and a disguise.

The rest seemed a little hazy.

Iceman was on his second drink of the night, after the whole serenade fiasco. He always liked to nurse something but it was obvious, that he was still uncomfortable. It was fortunate enough that Iceman could easily detach himself from the two Ladies sat opposite him.

 

Iceman had phased out again, almost. He barely caught the end of the shrill voice of the brunette, the giggles that grated on his last nerve. He didn’t actually have it but tonight wasn’t really about playing ‘truths with Pete Mitchell.’

“…have a piercing on your…” Iceman had already forgotten the girl’s name.

The joke was becoming a little tired between them but he knew what Maverick wanted. He took the bait.

“Seriously Mav, stop introducing me as ‘Thomas, with the dick piercing’” His eyes locked on Cindy, or was it Sandra? “Unless…” his voice dropped to a husky tone, full of promise and desire “you’re into something a little… _reckless_.”

He peered over at Maverick, sat on his left. He’d shrunk a little into the corner, his face was hot with a slight blush settling across his cheeks.

The brunette just winked at him. Ice felt his own cheeks heat. He reached for his glass. That was not meant to be inviting.

“If you think that’s bad, just wait until you see what he’s got on his ass. Besides the drunk tattoo. Last night’s spank sesh’ with this bitch left him reeling.” Iceman retorted, more into his glass than at Maverick’s flushed face.

It was all true; minus the implied woman scenario and the faux tattoo. So why not strike up that conversation?

Giggles erupted again. Ice rolled his eyes again.

 

  
He’d spaced out for the umpteenth time, only being bought back to consciousness by a slightly tipsy and very fuckable Maverick. Maverick, who had his hand on him. Clutching at him.

“This one time right, Tom was a little drunk. Not drunk enough to go on with it like completely, the control freak, but he let this tit get him in the ass with a dildo. Repeatedly. Then he called me to explain said pleasurable experience.” Maverick chocked out.

Not an unusual scenario, when you substitute ‘dildo’ for Maverick’s actual cock.

“It was very graphic.”

Maverick’s actual cock, which in the corner of Iceman’s eye, had stood at attention. He was alert enough for that, so Iceman let his fingers wander off to wherever they wanted to go.

 

 

They just kept on talking and talking. Ice couldn’t hear it nor did he care enough to decipher it.  
The voices had nearly all faded away, all his concentration stayed on the hand in his lap, tugging at his crotch.

He heard Maverick continue.

“… once I had to pick Tom up from this place… “ His eyes rolled back.

“...2am… completely hammered.” His lips parted.

Delicious little gasps escaped and then sensation stopped, Maverick had pulled away. They both knew Iceman was close. He needed another distraction, Ice flagged a waiter down for a top up.

  
“… so he takes… up into the…”  
Ice found his composure, took another sip only to find Maverick’s intruding fingers had clutched at his thigh.

“…showing all the knobs and gauges…”  
Ice thought it pathetic, surprised enough that he was still thinking about it, that here they were teasing each other so up close and personal.

It was public. Idiotic and public. But he was rolling his hips up to meet Maverick’s touch.

“…fucked in the cockpit.”

They had fucked in the cockpit.  
He couldn’t even remember being this turned on.

This was unacceptable. Mitchell had worked him up too much, even with his own hands on Maverick. He couldn’t stand the heat.

Enough was enough.

Ice turned to him, bordering on drunk but still desperate to appear cool. Their eyes locked.

“You know what Ladies. I think my friend has had a little too much. The two of you have exhausted him.” He detangled Maverick’s slur.

The next thing Ice knew was that the girls had upped and sauntered on.

“Where did-“

“There. Women. New target. 6 o’clock” Maverick’s voice was strained.

Within moments, he couldn’t quite work out how, the two of them were slumped over each other, heading out back. Ice deftly avoided tripping over his own feet. 

 

The two men rutted up against each other, Iceman’s back scraping against the wall. Their lips were sealed together, tongues battling with little restraint.

Maverick’s hands were _everywhere_ , teasing buttons and tugging on zips. Ice couldn’t help himself as his own clumsy hand fumbled with his belt.

He gave his own leaking cock a couple quick, rough strokes.

Maverick’s lips enveloped him in harsh, rough head. Iceman’s lips parted. He exhaled deeply, his hand clawed at the wall to keep his lean body upright.

“Worst. Wingman. Ever.” Maverick sputtered, in between breaths.

Despite himself, Iceman tried to heave a laugh that was stuck in his throat. It came out breathless. He stopped short, as Maverick’s right hand clutched at his waist, Ice was thrusting against him.

All he could do was buck desperately into Maverick’s mouth and clutch at his hair.

“Think I’ll- think I’ll stick to being a cockblocker.”

Ice froze. He shuddered, clutching fast at Maverick’s body.

“Not yet, you won’t, Ice. It’s my turn.”

Iceman licked his lips.

“Bring it.”

 

 


End file.
